


We All Hate Joffrey

by lindenwaverly



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, and hopeless pining unrequited love, and the stark kids being sociopaths, but also blowjobs, idiots to lovers, this is just everyone being a family and dicking around together, trigger warning for background discussion of abusive relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindenwaverly/pseuds/lindenwaverly
Summary: “No,” said Robb, rubbing the bridge of his nose. God, he loved his family, but sometimes he dreamed of being an only child. “No one is murdering anyone, especially not you, Rickon. You’re nine.”“No one would ever suspect me if I did it,” said Bran, looking up from his books.Jon rolled his eyes. “Bran, you’re in a wheelchair.”“Exactly. I’d be in court all, oh boo hoo, I was tragically injured at such a young age, look at me, how could you think I did it?”“How would you do it?” said Arya, with too much interest.“I’d bait him into stealing my wheelchair and then push him off a cliff in it.”Or - Sansa is bringing someone home for Christmas. Robb is hopelessly pining after his best friend. Ned Stark is trying his hardest to be a supportive father, and Jon is done with everyone.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 291





	We All Hate Joffrey

“Ok,” said Robb, bouncing into the living room and narrowly avoiding the Christmas tree. “This is crisis central, we are in crisis mode, everyone shut up and focus now. Theon, you too.”

“I’m not actually a Stark,” said Theon, still playing with his phone. “I don’t need to be included in your family counselling sessions.”

“Then why are you here?” said Arya.

Theon shrugged. “I like to listen and laugh.”

Rob plucked the phone from Theon’s hands and threw it on the couch. “I just got a text from Sansa. She’s bringing someone home for the holidays. She didn’t say who, but – “

“Joffrey,” said Arya, throwing a hand over her eyes. “Oh _no._ Oh, can I kill him?”

“I’d help you hide the body,” said Theon. Everyone looked at him. “What? Hating Joffrey isn’t a Stark-exclusive trait.”

“I hate agreeing with you,” said Jon. “Hate it. But yes, we should kill him.”

“Can I help?” said Rickon.

“No,” said Robb, rubbing the bridge of his nose. God, he loved his family, but sometimes he dreamed of being an only child. “No one is murdering anyone, especially not you, Rickon. You’re nine.”

“Spoilsport,” said Rickon, bashing his toy trucks together. “Jon would let me murder him.”

“I would not,” said Jon. “I would get Arya to do it. She obviously has the best chance of getting away with it.”

“You are a cop, Jon,” said Robb. No one took any notice.

“No one would ever suspect me if I did it,” said Bran, looking up from his books.

Jon rolled his eyes. “Bran, you’re in a wheelchair.”

“Exactly. I’d be in court all, oh boo hoo, I was tragically injured at such a young age, look at me, how could you think I did it?”

“How would you do it?” said Arya, with too much interest.

“I’d bait him into stealing my wheelchair and then push him off a cliff in it.”

Arya clucked appreciatively. “Oooh, that’s good.”

“Can we _please_ focus?” said Robb. “Only sensible suggestions from here on out.”

“You’re worrying too much,” said Theon, who had found his phone again. “Look, Sansa isn’t _stupid._ Yeah, she sucks at relationships and love and feelings but it always works out. Remember that creepy teacher she had a crush on at school? She got over that fine.”

“Because Dad got him fired, and Mum threatened to kill him,” said Arya. “Your examples need work.”

“You could use the time Sansa had a crush on you,” said Bran.

Theon sits bolt upright, almost spilling his beer. “What?”

“Yeah, for like a week,” said Robb. The Christmas headache he had begun the day with was rapidly growing into a full blown migraine.

“It was more like a year,” said Arya. “Then she got to know you.”

Theon threw his phone at her.

“She’s got a point,” said Jon. “Eventually, Sansa’ll notice his personality.”

“And then maybe _she’ll_ kill him,” said Arya, springing up from the couch.

Robb sighed. “I can’t believe I’m the only one of my siblings who isn’t going to jail.”

“To go to jail, they have to catch you,” said Arya. “We’re going to be fine, right Bran?”

Bran high-fived her.

* * *

They were in the shed, working on Dad’s old car, when Jon asked Robb the question that caused him to drop his spanner onto his toe.

“Ow fucking ow ow _ow.”_

Jon, the bastard, just raised an eyebrow. “I take it that’s a no.”

“I’m not – I’m sorry – I think I misheard you.”

“I said are you ever going to tell Dad you’re gay,” said Jon, turning back to the engine.

Robb stood there, completely poleaxed. “Jon, I’m not – I’m not – “ There were words, he was sure. Clever, simple words that would make Jon understand how wrong he was. He just needed to find them.

Jon scratched his head. “Look, I’m not – I hope you know that we’ll all, always love you, yeah? And Dad might be from an older generation but he’s not going to try and stop you from being happy.” He gave a deep sigh. “And yeah, I do sort of wish you’d chosen someone other than Theon, but I can see you make each other – “

“Stop,” said Robb. Jon did, looking up at him calmly. “Just – just stop. Theon?”

“Yeah,” said Jon, very slowly. “It’s – you’re kind of obvious, mate.”

“I’m not – me and Theon, we’re not – we’re just friends.”

“Oh.” Jon nodded. “Oh, ok. I just thought – well. It doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” said Robb, and turned his attention back to the car. _It’s obvious,_ said his traitor mind. _Jon thinks it’s obvious._ And if Jon saw it – Jon, who was not always the most observant of people – then Theon definitely saw it. He thought he’d been so careful. Never looking too long, never letting himself say all the things he wanted to say to Theon, like _love_ and _beautiful_ and _just have some self-respect you idiot, you deserve it._ Yep, he’d been playing a perfect performance of a platonic, heterosexual best bro, twelve points to Gryffindor, as long as you ignored that _thing_ that had happened – but he wasn’t going to think about that. No, he’d been doing perfectly. Except it turned out he hadn’t.

God, if Theon knew – but he hadn’t said anything. Why wouldn’t he say anything? _Because you’re pathetic,_ said his mind, _and it would be too awkward, and he doesn’t want you back._ Oh god, he was going to have to walk into the ocean. 

“So, uh, no denial on the gay thing,” said Jon, his voice hesitant.

Robb sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound, and Jon was good with other people’s secrets. “It’s complicated. Can you – can you keep it to yourself?”

There was silence. When he looked up, Jon was smiling softly at him. “Do you even need to ask?”

“No,” said Robb, feeling a rush of fondness for Jon.

“I do get to ask another question though.”

“Hit me.”

“So, if it’s complicated, is it – complicated about Theon?”

Robb snorted. “Yeah. I mean, I guess not that complicated. It’s actually pretty simple, really.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean. He’s straight.”

Jon was looking confused now. “Did he say that?”

Robb shrugged. “He doesn’t have to. The complex messy history of girlfriends sort of gives it away.” He leant back to his work, and when he looked up, Jon was still watching him. “What?”

Jon pursed his lips, an expression so Catlynn Stark it almost made Robb laugh. “Maybe you should – talk to him about that.”

Robb snorted. “Like what? Hey Theon, just theoretically, you wouldn’t happen to be secretly homosexual now, would you? Oh, why am I asking? No reason, nothing at all.”

“Right,” said Jon heavily. “Just – just you know, think about it.”

* * *

T-minus two hours till Sansa arrived with her ‘special someone’, and Arya had taken to hovering in the kitchen, ostentatiously sharpening a knife. Jojen, one of Bran’s friends from college, was watching her with poorly-concealed fascination.

“Please put that way, Arya,” said Robb. His Christmas Headache was expanding to behind the eyes, right on schedule.

Jojen bit down on an apple. “Who’s this Joffrey guy you all want to murder anyway?”

“He’s Sansa’s high school sweetheart,” said Arya. “They met online when they were teenagers, but he was clearly such a shit to her that our parents banned her from seeing him. She was so excited when she moved to King’s Landing for college, because now she was going to ‘be with her true love forever and ever’.”

“That was two years ago,” said Robb. “They keep breaking up and getting back together. It’s an endless cycle.”

“What did he do to be so awful?” said Jojen.

Robb caught Jon’s eye and they both scowled. They’d never had proof about the black eye – Sansa had lied until it faded, and kept singing Joffrey’s praises throughout. She’s told them about the cheating, though, and Robb could read the spaces in the stories that Sansa would tell them about Joffrey’s rich kid lifestyle. She was unhappy, miserably unhappy, but there’s was nothing they could do to convince her to _stop_ being unhappy, and every time someone criticised Joffrey, Sansa had become even more defensive. So they had stood around, helpless and waiting for the moment their sister would come back to them.

Jojen was looking between the two of them, and too late Robb realised that they must look insane, standing there with black looks on their faces.

“That bad, huh,” said Jojen, seemingly unphased. He was a smart kid, for sure. “Bran mentioned something about a murder plan? I have to hide in the bushes next to the big gully out back and wait for his signal.”

“No murder,” said Robb, but he gave Jojen the first choice of biscuit, just in case they needed him.

* * *

Robb walked into Arya’s room just in time to see her shriek and dive under the bedclothes.

“Are you – “ He replayed the last five seconds in his mind – his little sister, standing in just a bra and trying to pout at a phone. God, was that her sexy face? He was scarred for life, and he just didn’t have room in his brain for any more trauma – “are you _sexting?”_

“No,” said Arya sulkily. “Get out!”

“Just – Arya, you shouldn’t sext, you know. Those pictures could end up out there on the internet forever, and then it could affect your job prospects, you shouldn’t trust – “

She threw a shoe at him. “I’m eighteen, I can make my own choices, _get out.”_

Robb backed out of the room, hands splayed and still babbling apologies and warnings as Arya shrieked at him. He then immediately tripped over Theon, who was sprawled on the stairs laughing so hard it was beyond sound. Bastard didn’t even _live_ here.

“Shut up,” he scowled, and stormed off with Theon hot on his heels.

“Oh come on, Robb. You have to admit, that was pretty funny.”

“I’m traumatised.”

“You used to be able to hear Jon and Ygritte banging, was this worse than that?”

“Thanks for reminding me.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “And yes, it was, because Jon’s always been older, and Arya is – she’s so young, Theon, what if this all turns out badly? Also, her sexy face makes her look like a dolphin.”

Theon shrugged. “Of course it will turn out badly. She’s eighteen. Everyone’s relationships turn out badly at eighteen. She’s going to make her own mistakes and learn from them, just like we all did.”

“Yeah,” said Robb, wistfully thinking of his own mistake. Their graduation party, when Ned and Catlynn had clapped him on the shoulder and then wisely gone out of town for the weekend. It was five in the morning, lying side by side by the pool. _Do you think- ?_ Theon had said, and then Robb had kissed him. The scent of Theon’s cologne, that musky-dark one he’d overused back when they were teenagers. And the scent underneath that, the salt tang on Robb’s lips and Theon had curled his fingers through Robb’s hair, _fuck yes, that pretty mouth, dreamed about this._ Theon hadn’t even had a chance to pay him back – Robb had just crawled up his body and rutted against him. The guilty slide of Theon’s eyes the next morning. They’d never mentioned it again.

“Hey.” There was the real Theon, laying a gentle hand on Robb’s shoulder. “Come back to me, Stark.”

Robb shook his head. “Sorry. Just – old memories.”

Theon’s smile was ragged at the edges. “Yeah, I know. Come on, if we start drinking now we might black out before Joffrey arrives.”

“God, now there’s an idea,” said Robb, but he followed Theon into the pantry anyway

* * *

When Robb was sixteen, Theon had come to school with a black eye.

It wasn’t the first time that Balon Greyjoy had given his son injuries. As a kid, it had almost seemed like a fact of life to Robb. He hated Balon, hated him with a burning passion for the way that Theon spoke about him, the way he moved after his father had been particularly rough with him. But while Theon had raged against being hurt, he’d always treated it as just something that happened in his family, and with all the casual acceptance of a child who didn’t know how the world worked, Robb had too.

What was different this time was that it broke Robb.

“Come on,” he’d said, grabbing Theon and dragging him towards the principal’s office.

“Rob, let go, Robb – what are you doing.”

“We’re telling someone,” said Robb, spinning round. “We’re telling someone and we’re putting a stop to this.”

“He’s my father,” Theon had hissed. “Let me deal with this. Don’t get involved.”

“Don’t get involved? You’re my best friend, Theon, I’m not letting you get abused.”

Theon had flinched as if struck. “I’m not fucking abused, Robb. I’m just – it’s not like I’m some innocent kid who daddy beats when he’s drunk. He found my drug stash. I’ll be more careful next time, ok? I’m handling it.”

“If you don’t tell, I will,” said Robb, and he’d walked away to do it, but Theon had grabbed him and shoved him up against the locker.

“Don’t you dare.” Theon’s eyes had been blazing thunder-grey, his face inches away. There was a curious flipping sensation inside him. Something about the world had stopped making sense, or maybe started – something he couldn’t name, but that was somehow related to Theon’s face, Theon’s breath, Theon’s body crushed against him.

“Theon – “ he’d said, but Theon had moved closer somehow, his hands on either side of Robb’s head.

“You’re the only one that trusts me, Robb.” His voice was fierce and sharp. “You have to, please. Trust that I can deal with it.”

Robb hadn’t wanted to. But Theon’s voice was pleading, and Theon never pleaded for anything. Robb had never been able to deny him something, and he couldn’t now. So he’d nodded. Theon had pulled off slightly, but Robb had grabbed him by the small of his back, held him there. It had just been a second, but it had been all he needed to place the flipped-thing, give it a name.

“Oi, queers, get a room,” Ramsey Bolton had called, and Theon had released him, stumbling back a good two metres and flipping Bolton off.

“I’d lie anyway,” he’d said casually. “If you told. I fight all the time. I’d just say I’d gotten it then.”

“You shouldn’t,” said Robb.

“You promise you won’t tell?”

“I promise,” he said, and it was the worst promise of his life.

Balon Greyjoy had kept hitting Theon, and Theon had kept getting into fights and crawling through Robb’s window at three a:m to sleep curled up next to him. Catlynn and Ned had gone from amused, to worried, to very disapproving. At one point, Ned had actually tried to ban him from the house, and it had taken tears and pleading from Robb, and a half-mumbled explanation before Ned had relented.

“If something bad is happening to Theon at home, Robb,” he’d said, and Robb had shaken his head and denied it vehemently. He must have been unconvincing, because Ned dropped the idea of exile, and Theon kept on sleeping in Robb’s bed.

By seventeen, he’d gotten used to the unique torture of sleeping next to the object of his affections. Theon didn’t like to be touched much, wouldn’t accept any displays of affection in the daylight, but in the dark they curled into each other like commas, fingers tight in the other’s shirt, breath against necks. Robb got used to the feeling of waking up hard against Theon’s spine, and cold showers or furious, silent wanks in the bathroom became a normal part of his routine. By then Theon had started collecting girls anyway, and his late night visits to Robb’s room became less and less frequent. Robb was – not dating.

“I’m just picking up your leftovers,” Theon would say, grinning easily. “You need to get out in the field, Robb. They’re all looking for you – they’re disappointed when they just get me.” It wasn’t true – no one was disappointed with Theon – but girls _were_ throwing themselves at Robb. He was broad shouldered, popular and well-liked, class-president and captain of the football team. Arya teased him constantly about being ‘the first ever British homecoming king’. He’d dated Jeyne Pool for a while, but nothing had stuck. She was nice, and sweet, and took his virginity at the back of her dad’s shop, but they’d broken up before their A-Levels with no particular hard feelings on either side.

“Tough luck, mate,” Theon had said, as they drank away his feelings about the breakup on the roof of the Stark garage. The truth was that Robb didn’t really have any feelings about it, but it gave him an excuse to spend a night with Theon, watching him get more dramatic and cocky as the alcohol rubbed off what little inhibitions he had. And if sometimes Robb let his imagination stray, if sometimes he wondered just how uninhibited the two of them could get with a bottle of vodka between them, if sometimes he wanted to lean forward and chase the taste of spirits on Theon’s lips – it didn’t matter.

Then the graduation party had happened.

It was embarrassing really, looking back. All that sex with Jeyne, and the best he’d ever felt was _yeah, this is pretty good, but I’m not sure what the fuss is all about._ And then he’d kissed Theon and understood completely. He’d been hard within seconds, embarrassingly hard. Theon had seen his shame and groped him through his jeans, making him moan and thrust. _You want it bad, don’t you, Stark._ It should have been awkward and pornographic but it had turned him on like nothing else could. He had stripped Theon out of his shirt and gotten his mouth over every bit of skin he could reach, licking and biting and returning over and over again to that smart mouth.

 _Want you,_ he’d whispered, and Theon had laughed and pushed his head down. It was more than a little weird that at the ripe old age of twenty-three, the best sex he’d ever had was a drunk blowjob that he had given at eighteen. But he had felt needy, desperate, humping Theon’s leg while one hand steadied himself and the other scrabbled helplessly at Theon’s hip. Theon tugging on his hair, thrusting upwards, a litany of dirty words falling from his mouth. _Pretty mouth, made for this –_ that had been the one that nearly destroyed him. Theon had looked at him, looked at his mouth, maybe thought about this before.

Then, when he’d crawled up Theon, rubbing against his hipbone, one hand down his pants – _I can’t believe this._ And he’d said it back – _me neither, Theon, I –_ and then he’d come, and Theon had kissed him as he cried out.

They’d slept in Robb’s bed that night, and when he’d woken and heard Theon in the kitchen, whistling aimlessly, his heart had felt impossible light and delicate. And then he’d walked into the kitchen, and Theon had looked at him, and then looked away.

 _Wild night last night._ He wouldn’t look up. He was frying eggs, poking them uselessly like a spatula. He didn’t need to be looking at the pan. He just didn’t want to be looking at Robb. _I must have blacked out or something, I don’t remember much._

And Robb had nodded and gone outside to survey the damage.

Things hadn’t changed much after that. They’d still been best friends, even with Robb at university – he was only a town away after all. He’d dated Talisa, and then been fairly sad when she dumped him. Theon would still come over, driving through the night to his shitty student flat and taking up space in the single bed. And if sometimes in the night Robb had watched Theon sleep and shaken with more love than he knew what to do with – well. _Worse things happen at sea,_ as Catelynn Stark always said.

There had only been one moment where he thought it might happen again. It was the Stark New Year’s Eve party, and it was a testament to their strange form of family loyalty that despite the fact three of them could now legally go to a club and have actual _fun,_ and Arya and Bran definitely had house parties they could have been at, all the Stark children still spent the New Years with their parents. At five minutes to midnight, Robb had been alone in the kitchen searching for a bottle of champagne when Theon had stumbled in and collapsed onto Robb like a limpit.

 _You’re wasted,_ he’d said, and Theon had swum slightly in his vision – ok, so maybe he wasn’t sober either – and said _you’re pretty._ Robb had flashed back then, to Theon’s voice in the dark saying _pretty mouth,_ and he’d touched his lips without thinking, Theon’s eyes following the movement of his hand and then flashing back up. They’d stared at each other, and for a second he swore they were both thinking of that night by the pool, and he’d almost – fractionally – leant forward.

And then Theon had said _pretty wasted too,_ and collapsed into giggles, and Robb had laughed along. It had felt like razorblades.

* * *

“It’s going to be fine,” said Ned Stark, sounding like the exact opposite.

“Sure,” said Catelyn. “Kids, just – be polite. You too, Theon.”

Theon threw a peanut in the air and caught it with his mouth. “Sure. Hey Mr Stark, any chance you’re sharing that Talisker?”

Ned glowered, but he did pour a heavy measure in a spare glass and passed it over to Theon. To Robb’s surprise, he then poured two more, and handed one to Robb and one to Jon.

“It’s going to be fine,” he said again, and then drained his glass. “You kids know – you know that I love you, right?”

“Ohh, maybe _Dad’s_ going to kill him,” said Arya. Robb considered setting the house on fire.

The doorbell rang. Arya curled her lip and settled into the corner of the couch, looking ready to pounce.

There was a long pause, as the Stark’s looked at each other. The doorbell rang again, and Theon sighed dramatically and stood up.

“You don’t have to – “ said Catlynn, but Theon waved her off.

“It’s not like it matters if _I_ say something rude to him. And you all need a second to get your faces under control.”

He stalked off, Rob and Jon following close behind him, because Theon was a sweetheart for offering but he was also a walking disaster and it was only gentle pressure from Ned that had stopped him being charged with assault the last time he saw Joffrey. Robb managed to get in front of him with much elbowing and muffled swearing, and opened the door just as it rang for the third time.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Hi Sansa, hi Joff – “ and then he stopped, looking at the dark-haired girl who was definitely _not_ Joffrey.

“Sorry,” said the girl, with a winning smile that almost knocked him off his feet. She was _beautiful._ “I’m not as advertised. I’m Margeary.”

“Right, right, hi,” he said, trying not to let his relief show. “Sansa, I didn’t realise it would be a friend – “

“Right, a friend,” said Margeary, but Sansa grabbed her hand and shot her a warning look, before visibly steeling herself and turning to face Robb.

“She’s not. A friend, I mean. Robb, this is Margeary, my girlfriend.”

There was a pause, and then behind Robb, Theon broke down laughing.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, waving a hand. “It’s just – you have no idea, Sansa, Arya got her knives out, and then – “

“Because we hate Joffrey!” said Jon, quickly. “Not because we hate everyone who Sansa dates, ignore him. He was poorly socialised as a child.”

Margaery’s smile grew wider. “Oh good. I hate Joffrey too. Can we come in?”

“Of course,” said Robb, backing away from the door. “Sorry, Margaery, we’re normally a lot more – well. Jon?”

Jon shrugged. “No we’re not. We’re always like this. Nice to meet you, Margaery, I’m Jon, this is Robb, and the gibbon is Theon. He’s not actually related to us.”

Theon stilled then, just for a second, but he pulled it back together before catching Robb’s eye and grinning.

“So do Mum and Dad know that, you’re, uh – “ He stopped, hoping he hadn’t offended anyone yet, but Margaery just grinned, and Sansa didn’t bristle like he expected her to.

“They don’t,” said Sansa. “So this should be fun.”

Ned was already grimacing when the door opened, a scotch in each hand with one held out like a gun or a peace offering. “Joffrey, how nice – “

He stopped.

“I’m gay,” said Sansa.

Catlynn dropped her knitting.

“Oh thank god,” said Ned. “I mean, sorry, sorry, love who you want, but – oh thank _god,_ Sansa. I love you, I do, but you have such terrible taste in men. Hi, I’m sorry, nice to meet you, I’m Ned, Sansa’s dead.”

“Margaery,” said Margaery, who was doing a bad job of hiding her laughter. Sansa was flushed bright red.

_“Dad!”_

“Are you a sociopath?” said Arya. “Because that would fit Sansa’s type.”

“ _Arya,”_ hissed Catlyn. “Hi, Margaery, I’m Catlynn. It’s lovely to meet you. This little monster is Arya. Ned, come with me to find Bran and Rickon.”

“Sure,” said Ned, hurriedly pushing the scotch on a bemused Margeary. “Let’s – let’s go find the boys.”

The bustled out, and then it was just the kids. Theon had passed beyond laughter into something that possibly required medical intervention, and even Jon looked amused.

“So are you a sociopath?” said Arya.

“Possibly,” said Margaery. Her smile had stopped looking pleasant, and had begun to seem just a little terrifying. “But I use my powers for good.”

“She poisoned Joffrey,” said Sansa, stroking Margaery’s hair. Arya gasped delightedly.

“I didn’t poison him,” said Margaery. “There is no proof that the drink I gave him and his unexpected bout of diarrhoea had anything to do with each other.”

“We wanted to murder him,” said Arya, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Robb said we couldn’t though.”

“I can’t believe you thought I’d bring him,” said Sansa. “Not after what happened last time.”

Jon shrugged. “Theon punched him, not us.”

“I punched him, sure,” said Theon. “But once he was down, you two were more than happy to kick him.”

Margaery gave them all an approving smile. “Oh Sansa, I _like_ your family.”

* * *

Ned lasted got in a solid twenty minutes of interrogation with Margaery before Catlynn gently suggested that he might want to go and do that work on the car he’d been meaning to get to. Robb gave him a head start, and then slipped out behind him. He crunched across the gravel, letting the smell of cigarettes guide him, and turned the corner just in time to see Ned crushing something under his shoe.

“What’s up, dad?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Ned, looking panicked. “Just enjoying the night air.”

Robb turned away to hide his grin. “Sure, Dad.”

They leant next to each other in companionable silence. Inside, Arya’s high-pitched voice was getting louder, undercut by the occasional rumble of Bran’s baritone – and when had that happened, Bran getting a man’s voice.

“So Sansa’s gay,” he said.

Ned just grunted.

“I think that’s great. I mean – I mean, I know you were happy about her not dating Joffrey but dad – are you, you know, _happy?”_

Ned sighed, and Rob’s heart dropped. It must have shown on his face, because Ned held up a hand and then dropped it gently onto Robb’s shoulder.

“I don’t – I don’t have a problem with it, Robb. Am I happy? No. I worry about all of you, and now I have to worry about Sansa in a new way. I wish she was straight, because it would mean her life was easier and simpler. She’s a good girl with a good heart, and sometimes she doesn’t see the threat until it’s too late.” He sighed again. “But if this is who she is, then – I’m proud. It take courage. If there’s one thing that I’ve always tried to instil in you, it’s that the most important things you can be are brave and honest. And today, Sansa was both.”

And in that moment, Robb knew he was going to say it. He could feel the words rising in his chest, pushing out of his mouth before he’d even thought about it.

“Dad, I’m gay.”

“Oh Robb.” Ned smiled. “Oh, Robb. Come here.” And he pulled Robb into a bone-crushing hug.

“Don’t tell Sansa I came out today, kay?” Robb whispered. “She’ll be mad at me for stealing her thunder.”

His father laughed. “You keep everything I’ve said out here to yourself and I reckon you’ve got yourself a deal.” He pulled away. “Are you telling me – is there – a boy?”

“No,” said Robb, wiping his eyes. He was crying. He hadn’t realised that. “No, there’s no boy. No one else knows. Well, except Jon who – he asked me about it. But he got the wrong end of the stick, so. So no.”

“Of course,” said Ned. He seemed to be struggling with something, and there was a horrible instant of panic, of _he hates you and can’t accept you, you’re his firstborn, you were meant to be different ._ “Because, you know, if there was, I hope you’d choose – someone worthy. You know. Someone who – You should follow your heart.”

“Dad?”

Ned sighed. “Love is complicated, Robb, you know that right?”

Robb nodded eagerly.

Ned sighed again. “And sometimes, people who are – different to us can – attract us.”

“Do you mean like – a different gender?”

“No, no,” said Ned. “I mean, you know – you’re a good boy.”

Robb nodded. His dad seemed to be trying to impart something very important, using the medium of long stares and loaded pauses, and he was going to figure this out.

“I just mean that, well, seeing as you’re so good, I can see why you might – but then again, he’s quite nice to you, so maybe – I just want you to be – “

“Dad?” Ned seemed to be talking to himself, staring off into the trees. “Are you ok?”

Ned sighed, and clasped Robb on the shoulders.

“I’m just saying, Robb – make good choices.”

And with that he strode off into the house, leaving his firstborn son alone in the dark with his confusion.

* * *

“So Margaery seems nice,” said Theon, sidling into the kitchen. It was a shame to be missing out on Ned and Catelyn’s were-a-normal-family act, but his best mate was in trouble. Robb was brining the turkey in preparation for tomorrow. He took the beer Theon offered and sipped it contemplatively.

“She does,” he said.

“And gorgeous too.”

“Theon!”

“What,” said Theon, laughing. “I saw your face when you opened the door. She’s fucking stunning.”

“Well, yeah,” said Robb. “But she’s a lesbian. And dating my sister. So.”

“She’s bi, actually,” said Theon. “That came out during round two of your Dad’s third-degree back there.”

“Oh god,” said Robb, covering his face. “Is it terrible?”

Theon shrugged. “She seems to be finding it funny. Catelyn keeps dropping in these anecdotes about how much they just _loved_ Winterfell pride last year. Arya is alternating between cackling and hanging on Margaery’s every word.” He decided not to mention Bran’s awkward, searching questions to Sansa about how people _really knew_ they were gay. One fire at a time.

“Yeah,” said Robb. He was staring off into the distance as he pushed himself up onto the counter. “She deserves this. I just hope – I hope it lasts, you know? I don’t want to see Sansa get hurt again. I’m not ready to start writing her blank cheques just yet.”

“What makes you think it might go badly?”

“We’re Stark kids,” said Robb, smiling kindly. “We’re unlucky in love.”

“I don’t know,” Theon said, pushing himself up next to Robb. “You’re not exactly unlucky. More like you just don’t care.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like – yeah, Jeyne and Talisa both dumped you.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it, mate. My dog died when I was ten, shall we bring that up too?”

Theon slapped him heartily on the arm . “I mean you’ve never, like, _pined._ I can’t think of a single time I’ve known you when you’ve wanted someone and they haven’t wanted you back.”

He expected a laugh, but Robb’s eyes turned dark and serious, and he turned away. “I’ve pined, Theon. If you want to call it that.”

It didn’t matter. Of course it didn’t, because Robb Stark was not for him, not now and not ever. But still, his traitor heart skipped. He swallowed and thumped himself on the chest, just to keep it in check.

“Who’ve you pined for, mate? I’m your best friend, it’s my duty to know these things.”

“Can we not talk about this?” said Robb, still refusing to meet his eye. “It’s kind of painful.”

Oh good. So it wasn’t past tense, then – Rob was in love, right now. With somebody else. In front of Theon. Just sitting there, having feelings like a total wanker. For some reason, Talisa and Jeyne had never felt real, and Theon had sort of treated Robb’s relationships as personality quirks rather than an actual reason to be jealous. It wasn’t like Robb ever treated them as more important than this friendship, anyway – actually, thinking about it, that was possibly why they’d both ended. But this, now, this was real, and for the first time Theon felt something approaching true jealously.

“I won’t press,” he said. “But whoever it is, you should tell them, Robb. They’d be mad not to want you.”

Robb just laughed. “Don’t, Theon, just – thank you. But don’t.”

* * *

Robb shut the door to his childhood bedroom and banged his head against the door three times. There were his old football trophies, neatly arranged on the shelf. There was his stuffed monkey toy, poking out from behind some cushions. There was the ugly photo his mother had taken of the whole family, the one where there’d been crying and screaming two minutes before they arrived in the studio because Arya had locked herself in the bathroom and cut her hair with a pair of kitchen scissors. And there was the bed, the one he still sometimes shared with Theon, the one they’d stumbled into drunk and kissing the night that Robb thought everything had changed between them.

 _They’d be mad not to want you,_ Theon had said. It had taken everything in him not to just scream out _well you seemed to manage not wanting me quite well._

“Hey.” Jon’s soft voice came through the door. “I heard the sounds of a mental breakdown. Is it just the normal Christmas stuff, or do you want to talk?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Robb, and then banged his head again, for good measure. Jon, who probably interpreted as a cry for help, walked in. He was good at that sort of thing, was Jon.

“Is this about – you know.”

“My sad and lonely future of dying alone, unloved, probably from a heart attack induced by acute misery?”

“Now you sound like thirteen-year-old Sansa,” said Jon. “Yeah. That.”

“Yeah,” said Robb.

“I take it you spoke to him about it.”

“You take wrong,” said Robb to the wallpaper. It was a faded yellow, patterned with stars. The wallpaper was nice. It had never hurt him. It had never ripped out his heart from his chest. “I accidentally bought up the fact that I was in love with someone. And do you know what he said? The fucker?”

“I’ve met Theon,” said Jon. “So I’m going to assume it was unrepeatable.”

“He said _they’d be mad not to want you._ Like, of course, anyone in the world will fall at Robb Stark’s feet except the one person he wants?” He walked backwards and threw himself on the bed.

Jon sat gingerly down beside him. “I’ve got to say, that sounds encouraging. You know, like he realises you’re attractive.”

“He’s _straight,_ Jon.”

There was a sigh. “Ok. I’m ending this.”

“What – wait, wait, what?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing. Look, you should get back downstairs. Rickon is sugar high and bouncing around Margaery in a way that’s positively dangerous, and I told him you’d let him work on the old car with you to get him out of the way. You did promise.”

“Sure,” said Robb. “Let me change into my work clothes. You coming?”

“Not right now,” said Jon. He looked odd. “I’ve got to – make a phone call. Yeah.”

“To who?” But Jon was already walking away, and Robb sighed, pulled himself together and started looking for his grubby t-shirt.

His brother was so fucking weird.

* * *

“This is my spot,” said Theon, from the second branch of the tree. His cigarette was still dangling out of his mouth, muffling his words. “Piss of and get your own.”

Jon sighed, and heaved himself up the tree till he was facing Theon. “This is my house.”

“Is it, though?” said Theon, and here was the bit where Jon would snap back _it’s more my house than yours, why don’t you go back to your own family_ and the two of them would end up in a fight. Instead, he just sighed.

“Can we not do this, please? Not today, Theon. I actually wanted to talk to you.”

“Right,” said Theon, his top lip curling back. “Come to give me another talk about not dragging Robb into trouble?”

“If only,” he muttered to himself. “No. Just – what you said earlier, about punching Joffrey, it got me thinking.”

“That I’m a violent animal?”

“That you do care about this family,” said Jon, and he saw the shock of that hit Theon. “You care a lot more than you let on. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. And that night, with Joffrey, you did us a favour, letting him think that it was all you.”

Theon shrugged. “I already had a criminal record anyway. Wasn’t going to fuck my life up.”

“I don’t like not being square with a man,” said Jon, leaning forward. “So I’m going to do you a favour now, one that you will probably not appreciate immediately but hopefully will come to. You should tell Robb you’re in love with him.”

Theon swore and went to jump out of the tree, but Jon grabbed him, held his arm until the panic stopped beating in Theon’s eyes and his breath stopped coming so raggedly.

“You should,” he said. “I’m not going to, don’t worry. But you should tell him.”

He expected denials, or maybe another round of creative swearing, but it didn’t come. Possibly because Theon was still bloody terrified – pupils contracted, breath shallow, limbs shaking. Jon was never a great fan of Theon’s, but in that moment he imagined taking a shallow swing at the head of Balon Greyjoy.

“How did you know,” Theon croaked at last.

Jon sighed. “You’re not going to run away if I let go, right?” When Theon nodded, he released him, and settled back more heavily on his branch. “It wasn’t hard to see, Theon. Though if it’s any consolation, he has no idea you feel this way.”

“How,” said Theon again, like he was planning on cataloguing all the signs and then hiding them forever.

He scrubbed his face. “Do you remember back in school, Theon, when you almost got kicked out? You were standing in this garden, railing at the teachers, saying you didn’t care if you got expelled, that school was no bloody good anyway. And then Robb just looked at you and said, ‘If you got kicked out, I’d miss you,’, so sadly. You could see he was trying not to say anything else. And then you just turned your act around completely. Didn’t get in any trouble for the rest of the year, even when that Bolton kid started beating on you. You just took it, until Robb rushed in. You’d do anything for him, Theon. That’s how I knew.”

“But we’re not – he doesn’t,” said Theon. He was looking at the ground. “Because Robb’s straight, and even if he wasn’t, I’m – I’m not what he wants. He barely notices me.”

“You’re his best friend.”

Theon just laughed. “I’m his shadow. Only noticeable in my absence. Do you know how many times I’ve wished that I could just leave him? Because maybe, _maybe,_ then he’d actually – I don’t know, see me? But I can’t. I just can’t. And if he ever asked me to, I think my heart would break.” He laughed again. “Fuck, that sounds gay. Which I suppose is apt. But that’s why I won’t tell him, Jon. Thanks for the advice, but no. He’s straight, and me liking him would make everything weird, and he’d pull away. And then I’d just be nothing.”

“He can’t be that straight,” said Jon. “I mean, you did – you know.”

“What?”

Jon waggled his eyebrows. “You know. The graduation party.”

“I don’t know. Drink our own bodyweight in vodka? Write on each other’s backs with sharpies? Take a leak off the roof?”

“I forgot about that bit,” said Jon. Most of it had landed on him – ‘accidentally’, Theon claimed. “No, I meant after. By the pool.”

“By the pool,” said Theon, who was apparently trying to outdo himself on the thickness scale today.

“When he gave you a blowjob, you twit,” said Jon from between gritted teeth. “And thank you for making me have to spell it out, that’s exactly what I wanted to have to say today.”

Theon was still staring at him. “Jon, I – that didn’t happen.”

“Yes it did,” said Jon. “I know, because I walked in on it while I was trying to clear up. You were over by the pool, right there. You were shirtless, and I walked over to put you in the recovery position because I didn’t actually want you to choke on your own vomit, and then I looked down and there was my cousin, _sucking you off._ And I was the only person at the party completely sober, because Ned and Catlynn made me promise to be the responsible one, so I think I know what I saw.”

“Fuck,” said Theon, and fell out of the tree.

Jon dropped down next to him. “Theon, what the – are you ok?”

“Fuck,” said Theon, now lying flat on his back.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” said Jon, waving his hands.

“I’m not concussed, you twat, and you’re not meant to move your hands when you do that. I mean – fuck. I thought – I thought I imagined that.”

“I wish,” said Jon.

“I had my dick in Robb Stark’s mouth,” said Theon.

“I’m leaving,” said Jon, trying to wipe his brain of that image. “Try not to die beneath the tree. And remember I did you a favour here.”

He heard Theon say ‘fuck’ one final time as he stomped off towards the house.

* * *

If Theon had to put an age on it, he’d fallen in love with Robb Stark when he was ten.

One of the Karstark kids had been beating on him, and he’d been fighting back with everything he had and losing. He never remembered how the fights started – they always just seemed to happen to him. He’d been losing this one, though. The kid had gotten him on the ground and was kicking him, when suddenly a little boy with black curls had roared in out of nowhere and punched the Karstark in the face.

“Hi,” said the boy, grinning at Theon, “I’m Robb,” at which point he’d gotten cut off by Karstark jumping back up at pushing him to the ground.

Theon had been up in seconds, and with the advantage of surprise he’d gotten Karstark in a armlock and was damn near to breaking his wrist when Mrs Frey had turned up. She’d always hated Theon, and he’d dropped the boy and shut down when Robb had stepped in.

“Please, miss. He didn’t start it. Karstark attacked him first.”

At ten, Theon already knew about Robb Stark. He was tall, and easy going, and well liked. The girls in their class, who had just discovered crushes, though more as an abstract concept, had all decided that their crush was on him. He got good marks and just seemed to drift on through. He seemed like the kind of wanker that was better off avoided, really. “One of the soft,” as his father would sneer.

But when Mrs Frey started tutting about how it didn’t matter who _started_ it, Theon had fought back, Robb had drawn himself up and said “I did too.”

Mrs Frey had faltered. “Well, Robb, that was very brave of you, coming to his defence, but – “

“I punched him. Didn’t I, Theon?” Theon nodded, unsure what was happening but suddenly very interested in the results. “I punched him in the face, miss, just as much as Theon did. Whatever happens to him should happen to me too. And Karstark. It’s not fair otherwise.”

They’d had to spend their lunch break inside, writing lines, and when Mrs Blackwell had nodded off in the summer heat as she always did, Theon had kicked Robb’s chair and passed him a note.

_That was dumb. Now we’re both in trouble._

_I don’t care,_ Robb had written back. _Anyway, Karstark had it coming._

When he’d passed the note back, he’d turned and smiled. The sunlight had hit his face just right, turning it angelic. And Theon had fallen in love.

He wouldn’t name it till years later, age twelve, during another one of his father’s scream-rants about his faults, when he’d turned around and added _and queer for that little Stark boy too, spend so much time together, his family ruined this family –_

 _Queer,_ he’d thought, as his father rambled on about some ancient town history. The word had echoed in his head for about a week, every time Robb spoke to him or sat next to him or turned to him to smile in solidarity. _Queer queer queer,_ beating in his head like a drum. He was dizzy and distant all week. Robb thought something was wrong, and had invited him over for a movie marathon to cheer him up. They’d lain on the couch in the den, Robb drifting off to sleep on Theon’s chest, and he’d looked down at his head and thought _oh._

There wasn’t even a stage you could call a crush, really. It was just total acceptance, a lock clicking into place. No pining, no wishing except hopelessly, futilely, masochistically. It felt like his father’s abuse, like Yara’s contempt, like his teacher’s black looks – he was in love with Robb Stark, and Robb didn’t love him back, and that was the state of the world.

* * *

“Get out of here, pipsqueak,” said Theon, storming into the garage den where Robb was working, Rickon handing him tools from time to time.

“It’s my house,” said Rickon. “And you promised me I’d get to watch you work today.”

“Not today, buddy-boy. I need to talk to your man Robb here. Scram.”

Rickon pouted, but he still paused long enough to let Theon ruffle his hair as he rushed past. Robb smiled into the toolkit. The relationship between Theon and his younger siblings, especially Rickon, had always confused him. Theon was rude, mean and impatient, but somehow they could sense the love under there – and, even if he would insist to the contrary, Theon would have been devastated if they hadn’t.

“We did say we’d let him watch us work,” said Robb, wiping at his neck with a rag. He’d taken his shirt off, and now desperately wished he hadn’t. Theon made him feel naked enough already.

“Not working today,” said Theon. “Lock the door.”

“What?”

“Lock the door.”

“I swear, if my dad catches us getting high in here again, he’ll disown me,” Rob grumbled, but he locked the door anyway. “Oh god, this isn’t anything illegal, is it? Jon’s almost a cop now, he will arrest us.”

“Not illegal,” said Theon. He walked up to Robb and grabbed him by the beltloops, spinning him and pushing him against the car. He was strangely twitchy, switching between staring furiously around the room and searching Robb’s face with intensity.

“You’re acting weird,” said Robb, trying not to pay attention to the way Theon’s fingers had climbed higher, were now brushing against his hipbones and trailing down the hollows. Oh god, he was getting hard just from that touch. He tried to move away, but Theon pushed forward until they were flush against each other.

“It’s occurred to me that I owe you,” said Theon.

“What are you talking about,” said Robb, trying to keep his breath from hitching. He was pressed against Theon now, their faces inches from each other. Theon’s eyes were sharp and hungry.

“Graduation night,” said Theon, barely more than a whisper. Robb shut his eyes, felt Theon’s voice against his throat, opened them again to check that this was real. “I don’t like being in debt.”

And then, in one swift movement, Theon dropped to his knees.

There was probably a better response to that than immediately gasping and rubbing his erection in his best friend’s face, but none came to mind. Theon was pulling down his zipper, rubbing Robb’s cock through the fabric of his pants. For a brief moment he thought he might actually come just from that, from that simple motion, and he bit his lip and tried to calm himself. Then Theon’s mouth was around him, and he tried to muffle his shout with his hand.

One of Theon’s hands crept up Robb’s chest ,and he looked down and moaned at the sight. Theon’s mouth was stretched pornographically wide. He was looking up unflinchingly, and Robb wanted to look away – this was too much, it was all too much – but something in Theon’s eyes seemed to prohibit that. He kept looking down, and then one of his hands reached out, almost by it’s own accord, and brushed Theon’s cheek. Theon moaned and sucked harder, faster.

Robb said Theon’s name, gently, reverently, and Theon moaned again so Robb started repeating it like a chant. In-suck-gasp- _Theon-_ out, a kind of rhythm which grew faster and more sloppy as Robb gave up being gentle and started thrusting. Theon took it, he just took it, and he reached up and moved Robb’s hand off his cheek and into his hair. Robb tightened his fingers – not too much, just enough to provide a gentle pressure, and then he was coming in Theon’s mouth, too soon to warn him. He felt Theon swallow, and a little aftershock of pleasure ripped through him, almost taking him out at the knees.

Theon was standing now, making to move away, but he couldn’t have that. He grabbed Theon, held him close.

“I just thought I should return the favour,” whispered Theon. He was shaking, and Rob stroked his hair, pushed his face into Theon’s neck and bit down gently. Softly, soothingly, he worked a hand into Theon’s pants, stroked him off. It was quick, and gentle – Theon was already blistering hard, superheated under Robb’s fingers. Once, twice, again – and then Theon was coming across his knuckles, his shout muffled in Robb’s skin.

“I love you,” said Robb, the words bubbling up on their own accord again. “Oh god, Theon – I don’t care if you don’t, it’s ok. It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to love me back, but I do. I love you so much.”

“Don’t,” whispered Theon. “Don’t say it just because you think I need it.”

“I mean it,” whispered Robb, and they were kissing now, why hadn’t they kissed before? Theon’s mouth was sloppy, still trembling. He felt wrecked. They were both wrecked. “I mean it,” he whispered again, chasing the words with his tongue.

“Oh god,” said Theon. “Oh god, I want you. I’ve wanted you so much, for so long – Robb, you can’t know, it’s been agony, I can’t – “

“Shhh,” whispered Robb. He grabbed the rag and cleaned them both off. Some of Theon’s come had landed in long strips down his middle, and just the sight of that sent another spark of heat towards his exhausted cock. “Shh, darling. I love you. I love you.” It was as if now he’d started saying it he couldn’t stop, as if every single time he’d thought the words and not said them they’d been stored inside him and now they were unstoppered, running free across his lips. “Baby, please.”

Theon still hadn’t raised his head from Robb’s shoulder, his eyes screwed tight. _He can’t look at me,_ he thought, panicked. And then Theon cracked his eyes open, and the naked vulnerability in them broke Robb open.

“You love me,” he said quietly, and Theon nodded. Robb caught him again, crushed them together.

“Say it,” he whispered into Theon’s hair. “Say you love me. If you do.”

“I do. Oh god, I do. I love you, Robb.” He turned his face to the side, licked a stripe down Robb’s neck. “I’ve loved you forever, it feels like. I thought – I hated it. I thought you didn’t care. It was – oh my god, all this time?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “All this time.” They stood there for a while, just holding each other, until the trembling in Theon’s limbs stopped and Robb finally dared voice the question.

“Why didn’t – after graduation, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me then? You acted so ashamed about it, I thought you regretted it.”

Theon laughed. “I didn’t remember it was real. I thought I’d dreamed it. I felt guilty for days afterwards, every time I looked at you – thinking of what I’d said in my head. Or not.”

“You did say I had a very pretty mouth.”

“You do.”

“Kiss me, then.”

He did, and Robb clenched his fingers into the fabric of Theon’s shirt, heart hurting from all this joy.

“And you just remembered today?”

Theon laughed. “Not exactly. Actually, Jon had a little chat with me.”

“That _bastard._ I told him that in confidence.”

Theon raised an eyebrow. “Told him what in confidence?”

“That I – “ Even though he’d already said it, he had to look away. “That I was in love with you. Well, I kind of said it. He inferred the rest. He didn’t tell you?”

Theon shrugged. “He just said that I should tell you how I felt. And then I said that you were straight, and he said that he thought that probably wasn’t true, given what happened at graduation, and I said what happened at graduation, and he said – well, apparently he saw us.”

“Oh god.” He was never going to be able to have an erection again, because apparently Jon Snow had seen him sucking cock. “Oh no, oh god.”

“I suppose we’re lucky he did.” Theon, the bastard, was smirking. Greyjoy’s were trouble, why did Robb never remember that? “It could have been years before we got our act together.”

Robb smiled and hummed, ignoring the little panicky thing in his chest that said _it could have been never._ Could have, but it hadn’t, and they were here now. He loved and was loved, and he couldn’t ask for anything more. “We owe him a thank you,” he said, and then bent down to lose himself in Theon’s lips.

* * *

“I cannot believe you,” said Sansa, sulkily stacking the dishes. It was just her and Robb in the kitchen – everyone else was in the lounge, playing board games or, in the case of Theon and Jon, attempting to drink each other under the table. “I come home, all ready with my new girlfriend and my big gay revelation, and you totally steal my thunder.”

“We didn’t intend to,” said Robb, trying not to smile. “It’s not like we told anyone.”

What had actually happened was Rickon running into the kitchen, loudly complaining that Theon and Robb had locked the garage and they’d said he could help with the car today, Mum, it wasn’t _fair._ And then Jon had leapt up when Catlynn went to the garage to stop her, and instead of _lying_ like a normal person, had spilled the whole tale. Because Jon was a good man, and a great brother, but also a complete idiot when it came to lying. In his defence, he’d put up a good fight, but Arya had been able to smell blood in the water and had got it all out of him.

Sansa just sniffed. “I don’t understand what the big fuss is about anyway. We all knew it was coming.”

“You did?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. You two have been attached at the hip since you were ten. It was obvious you were going to end up together.”

“Not obvious to us,” said Robb. “Wait, did everyone know?”

“Dad said he tried to have a talk with you earlier. Told you to make good choices. Jury’s still out on whether you did.”

Robb smiled, and looked through at the sitting room. Theon was standing on a table, held upright by a giggling Margeary and regaling everyone with a story that was likely complete fabrication. Bran, Rickon and Arya were still playing monopoly placidly around his feet.

“I guess it is,” he said, though he was pretty sure of the verdict.


End file.
